Valkyrie
by pearypie
Summary: He'd waited nearly two years to see her again and if it took an entire fucking siege to do it then, Jaime supposed, the Tully's had their uses after all. [Spoilers for S6E8]


The bitter smoke of war choked through the camp like thorns through a rosebush; there was no glory to be gleaned for the fire had long since burned out, faded embers were all that remained. An overcast sky hung over them while the damp breeze chilled the men in their polished armor and agitated the horses near. Jaime thought it a fitting scene for the siege of Riverrun.

His tent was fully furnished despite the necessities of war and the heavy vermillion-gold Lannister armor made him look like a king. He could have called himself king and no one would have disputed such a claim—golden haired, tall and proud. That was Jaime Lannister. It would not do to confess to his men that he felt a thousand years old—bone weary and tired. The golden hand Cersei designed chafed at his wrist but the sharp sting was a welcome sensation—it reminded Jaime that he was still alive. That he wasn't dead yet. That in spite of Cersei's imprisonment, Tywin's death, Tyrion's escape, and Myrcella's passing, he was still alive. _Him._

The Kingslayer who allowed three monarchs to die before he was finally exiled from the only position he'd ever wanted. War had once been something Jaime lived for. Now it was just another means to an end. Without meaning to, he had somehow fallen into the banal graveyard of age. That dismal, charcoal grey scene of tired hands and faded eyes. For a knight who had once boasted that there were none of his kind, Jaime found the truth to be a nettle-bitter poison.

 _Though,_ a faint voice echoed, _he did not have to succumb._ Jaime shook the thought aside; hope was a rare thing these days and he had no idea why he was even experiencing a modicum of it now.

"Ser." A guard with a plain face and minuscule importance entered. "There is a…knight who wishes to speak with you."

Jaime lifted his still-golden head, jade eyes sharp even in his exhaustion. "Will you care to discern the name or shall I have to prophesize like Stannis Baratheon's priestess?"

The man paled. Their commander could be prone to terrible fits of black humor. "No, ser. The, uh, knight claims to be an agent of the Stark's but walks under a white banner."

 _Negotiations._ Jaime inwardly cringed. He didn't think the Blackfish would be so expedient but what did it matter? His father may have conquered through bloodshed but Tyrion had always boasted superiority in language. And if his little brother could coerce the hill tribes into following him, then Jaime was willing to take on eloquence as his next great sword and shield.

He fought back a smirk. "Send him in."

The guard hesitated. "Er…Ser Jaime, it's not exactly a… _he_ per se."

For the briefest moment, Jaime felt as if he'd been shot full of lightening. Youth and vitality quickened in him and he could feel, for the first time in _months_ , the presence of who he once was—the Jaime that smiled and sniped and mocked. _Is that a woman?_

He felt, for barely half a second, a trace of borrowed honor.

 _Eyes. Sapphire blue eyes, as clear and earnest as the waters of Tarth._

 _Words. Honest and firm and so stubbornly true._

The steady beat of his heart accelerated and Jaime was filled with the childish whimsy of youthful folly. That dull ache which throbbed in between his ribs faded and with the speed and grace of a falling star, Jaime cleared the table of maps and felt a genuine smile curving on his lips.

 _Brienne._

"Ser?" The guard had gone silent during Jaime's ten second revelation but now looked sincerely worried. Their chief commander had a sharp tongue and after his expulsion from the Kingsguard, possessed an awful temper as well. "Ser, if the thought of seeing such a disgrace upsets you then I would be more than willing—"

"Cease your intrepid speech and bring her here." Jaime ordered, words sharper than Valyrian steel. At his tone, the guard attempted to scramble away but Jaime wasn't done. "Ser Geta." The man froze. "I understand that time with the Freys may have loosened your tongue and inebriated your already dense intellect but do keep your malformed opinions to yourself. If you wish to prove your valor and embed yourself above the 'disgrace' then it would be my pleasure to put you in the vanguard tomorrow and send you up North." His smile cut like a knife. "I'm sure the ferocity felt by the Northmen have only increased since our arrival here and any scapegoat they find is a dead man."

Ser Geta, who had never been particularly brave, trembled like a leaf and his white pallor looked close to bloodless.

Jaime arched a brow. "First you speak too freely, now your speech is nonexistent. Would you like me to remedy that solution as well?"

"N-no, ser!" Geta managed, hastening into a clumsy salute. "Forgive my recklessness. I shall bring in the lady-knight at once." He bowed (a very, _very_ quick bow) and dashed out of Jaime's tent, leaving a bemused general behind.

Walking past the melange of tables, chairs, and miscellaneous luxuries unfit for war, Jaime felt a spark of hope that, while faint and impure, imbued him with the imperious haughtiness Brienne had come to love. Or, so he supposed. At the end of the day, Jaime liked to think that's what the Maid of Tarth liked best about him—he was, after all, incredibly endearing.

A wry smile slit his lips and Jaime could almost pretend that it was just he and Brienne, trekking through some godforsaken forest again. He with his wit and pretense and she, with brusque honor and those expressive sapphire eyes. _How e_ _xquisite._

He'd waited nearly two years to see her again and if it took an entire fucking siege to do it then, Jaime supposed, the Tully's had their uses after all.

* * *

 **A/N:** Damn right episode 8 got me. The Jaime and Brienne reunion was a LITTLE short (i.e. 5 minutes is NOT ENOUGH) but damn, did Nikolaj and Gwendoline jam pack pure emotion into it. I'll admit it—I freaking love Jaime/Brienne. Cersei's utterly toxic for him and without Jaime, Brienne would have remained blind like Ned Stark (I love Ned but c'mon, he was biased to the extreme). Any who, this was my pitiful token of appreciation towards this ship and here's hoping we get more scenes of them together.

Feedback is appreciated & encouraged :)


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